LBD: The Peace of Wild Things
by Paradoxically
Summary: A collection of writing exercises for "Light Becomes Darkness".
1. Love Letters

So... um, hi! After what, six years? LBD is likely going to go through a major re-write, and I've been trying to get into touch with the characters again. I don't know why Bobby came to me first, but there's a lot going on with him and Rogue that needs to happen before Remy comes into the picture. Will this all be clear? Nope, isn't to me either yet. Let's just call this writing exercises ( The Peace of Wild things is an album by Paper Route. There are nine tracks, so hopefully there will be 9 one shots.) And yes, this is all unbeta-ed and un-edited, otherwise I would have already lost the gumption to get this posted. Finally.

LBD: The Peace of Wild Things

Love Letters

_My soul you should know  
>Can share your sorrow-<br>Open the window let the light in._

Bobby was so, so sorry—and when he said that, he really, _really _meant it this time. Not that he hadn't all the times before, of course… it was just that here, now, every _last_ fiber of his being meant it.

"I'm sorry, _I didn't know that was something that would hurt you_. Can't you _see_ it? Don't you have any faith in me, don't you see that I'm telling the truth?"

She turned on him then, venom in her eyes, "'s not abou' not havin' faith in you Bobby, it's 'bout havin' _misplaced_ mah faith in you," she hissed, low and slow, each word burning Bobby like a hot coal. This woman would leave him branded for life.

He pulled his hands through his hair, wiping them down his face, as if he could wipe away the anger he saw written so clearly in her expression. "I'm sorry, Rogue, really, I am," he whispered softly. He stared at her silently, beseechingly, as she folded her arms across her chest, watched as her eyes found the burn scars across his collarbones—the ones that she put there with the facetious smile of a Joker's card. Something softened and crumbled at the corner of her eyes then. She huffed out a long breath then, sending her bangs flying away from her face. "Well, ya don' hafta look so much like a puppy Ah kicked," she murmured. A grin teased the corner of his mouth as he inched closer to her.

"So.. d'you admit you kicked me then?"

She snorted with laughter, then stopped, her lips thinning and her eyebrows coming together as she glanced up at him. "Bobby, Ah… Ah'm, sorry too. Ah shouldna—" she stammered, as he laid his palm against her cheek and let his thumb rest on her bottom lip. He shook his head slightly, eyes overbright, as he gathered her into his arms and let her tears slip down his neck.


	2. Two Hearts

A neat little Toni Morrison quote in here-brownie points to the first person to identify.

Written to track 2, Two Hearts

_If the heart is heaven tell me would the mind then be hell__?_

_And if I get too heavy for you, let me know cause I can't tell._

He was getting lost in the cracks, in the subtle fractures of his own mind. This, this was hell- to be stuck on an endless loop and the real _hell_ of Hell is that it is forever…. He didn't know what to believe, what to do, what to think. He'd not intended to be here, running the line between good and evil. But circumstances being what they were, it wasn't a terribly large surprise…

The blaring of a semi horn jerked Remy out of his reverie and back to the awareness of the punishing wind whipping his skin raw as he guided the bike to back towards the middle of his own lane. Maybe he did have a death wish.

Not that anyone would miss him, as things were currently. _"Heh, d'be lucky if dere was any'un who cared 'nough t'come piss on my grave," _he brooded. His head was strangely empty at that—no nattering, bouncy voice of Etienne rattling his skull, no knife-sharp retort from Bella, none of the hushed murmurings he'd grown used to over the years.

Maybe Henri was right. Maybe this trait, the…_gift_, to use Merci's term, was his birthright, waiting to be claimed. Not that he'd ever admit that. But all the keys to this mystery were being dangled above his head by a madman in a tin helmet—and Remy had his pride. The man had the look of a master manipulator, that smooth look just behind the eyes, the one that was too smooth to not be hiding _something_. And he didn't buy all that clap-trap about a new race of humans either. From what he'd seen, the darkness of the human mind was a universal, no matter what kind of body it rode around in.


End file.
